Altmeri Aversion
by Marshmallow Mania
Summary: Many believe that in Alinor, the Dominion is simply the status quo. But these Imperial-sympathizing Altmer and their friends have a perspective of their own that leaves no room for the very anti-egalitarian Thalmor. *First fanfiction, no anticipated lewdness but certainly violence. Rated M to err on the side of caution. Of course, Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda*
1. A Chance Encounter

Chapter 1 : A Chance Encounter

Vivianne sprinted forward through the grassy fields from her assailant. The constant * _swishing*_ sound of the wet grass made her escape all the more difficult, but fortunately, once she was out of earshot, she knew for sure that her attacker would never be able to see her, even with her vivid purple sash against the dreary grass, with as tall as rural Whiterun's grass was, and it being the foggy day as it was. The cool dampness of the soil and dew from the dreary weather conditions brushing against her bright golden skin reinvigorated her as she darted forward, avoiding yet another accursed firebolt.

Vivianne's hatred of the Thalmor seemed unparalleled, even amongst the local Nords. Be she an Altmer as she was, they were certainly one of the most despicable organizations she had ever had the misfortune of having to behold. She certainly didn't see eye-to-eye with Skyrim's nauseatingly nationalistic Stormcloaks, but at least they fought for what they believed was right, and while it was no more excusable, it was at least a little bit of a relief that they rarely seem to direct their racism against their kinsmen. The Thalmor were nowhere near as tolerable, however. Man or mer, none were too good to even be on equal standing with the Dominion. Even another high elf was not spared the dehumanizing torment of their overt beliefs in their superiority. She remembered having to flee from the Summerset Isles as a younger elf, having rejected their help and possessing the audacity to suggest that perhaps the races of their world were equal and should be treated as such. She would never forgive them for tainting her precious homeland and poisoning the minds of her kinsmer, for slaying any who were courageous or pure enough of heart to dissent, for ruining a society once noble and proud.

Vivianne recalled all this as she continued to flee from the Dominion wizards still pursuing her, even more livid than initially that she had been adept enough in combat to fell their bodyguards. Vivianne finally found some solace in hearing their furious shouting, just barely managing to make out the words "Where are you?!" before managing to poke her head out in the grass in what likely would have looked fairly comical were it not for her current situation. Even though her lungs screamed at her from such an excessive display of haphazard sprinting, Vivianne stilled her breathing, gradually descending from ragged huffs for air to tiny breaths that would rival a field mouse in the night. Amber eyes scanning the landscape, she mulled over the possibility of recovering just enough to charge back out there and _really_ give them a piece of her mind this time.

However, before she knew what she was witnessing, an immense explosion of light occurred right in the direction where the previous mages had been. She noticed one collapse while the remaining two staggered down, and Vivianne thought better of it to approach this altercation with subtlety rather than bravado. She could roughly make out… "By Auriel's light!"she exclaimed in her mind as she took in the scene. It was two other young Altmeri women, seemingly in their late teens to dawning twenties, much like her own age, accosting the remaining wizards with ferocity to rival that of the trolls of Skyrim's wilds, their hunched postures and feral scowls spoke to a vehement contempt that she began to believe herself to be the only elf to have for the Thalmor. Their robes clearly spoke to an extensive history in usage of the arcane, as was and still is a common trope of her and their race. The haste they made when throwing fireballs and trails of lightning spoke of a murderous intent. The previously overzealous wizards were soon fated to be charred to a crisp, screaming in an end that ironically seemed to match the same obvious lack of mercy for any who were not a Dominion agent. While Vivianne could clearly make out the robes of the two women, neither of them had a Dominion emblem on them, as if their vicious aggression towards the previously alive now horribly disfigured corpses of what were once Dominion agents didn't already make it obvious enough that they weren't affiliates of the damnable group.

As she scuttled closer, making an overt effort to avoid drawing their attention, she could clearly hear the hooded one shout "Those damn Thalmor make such an atrocious image for us well-to-do Altmer, as if such an isolationist province needed any more excuses to complain about those of us simply searching for a home here!" Vivianne's heart sank with relief as she heard that, making it now undeniable that they were obviously not friends of the High Elven racial supremacist movement, despite them sharing similar ancestry with herself and them. Vivianne's eyes shot open when she noticed their enraged glares whip around to face her direction, just now clapping her hands over her mouth as she noticed she inadvertently allowed a very audible sigh of gratitude to roll out of her breath. "Blast!"she cursed herself as she noticed the two other mer draw closer with evident suspicion. Their golden skin and twinkling almond-shaped eyes seemed to almost glow as the light of shock and flame spells reflected off of them, the sickening * _hiss_ * and * _crackle_ * of their spells growing louder with each bated footfall as the magic yearned to consume yet more victims. Her pointed ears clearly made out the hooded one's cry of "Who's there? Reveal yourself immediately!" It seemed she was the leader of the two there. Vivianne figured she may as well come forth and attempt to remedy the current situation before the outlook turned any more bleak than it already seemed. As adept as she was with spell and sword, Vivianne knew that these two ladies rivaled her own power, and that their combined forces would likely be much too great for her to overcome should push come to shove.

Hands held up next to her face defensively, Vivianne meekly slinked out of the underbrush to come forth and meet her saviors who just as quickly seemed they would soon become new foes. _"H-hello…"_ she managed to force out through yet-still ragged breath now combined with nervous stuttering. Vivianne noticed the hooded mage, whose cerulean robes piereced the greenish-brown backdrop of Skyrim's grass. Her friend, with her hair tied up into a very cute little bun behind her head, wore reddish robes that draped off of her body much like a dress might. Both the mer women's robes were fastened with a shoulder strap and a belt. The hooded one, after what felt like ages but was really only a matter of seconds, pointed coldly over to the deceased Thalmor agents, the visages of herself and her cohort contorting into wrinkled faces of unapologetic disgust. "Are you with _**them?"**_ Her Auridon accent spat out with an antipathy that almost pressed down on the skin, mucking it like a residue.

Vivianne felt her face catch fire, her blood boiling, and her hands clenching into balled fists to the point where her nails bit into her palms. "How… How _**dare you!**_ _"_ the young mer cried at them, throwing a very accusatory index finger in their direction, and feeling dirty at so much as having somebody think to compare her with them. She felt like she was being heckled by one of those Stormcloak bastards, as she recalled the classic " _Thalmor bitch"_ sneer that they so often liked to make at her. "Me, a damned, filthy, treacherous _**Thalmor?**_ Simply because of my meri heritage?"Vivianne almost wanted to throw herself at the hooded one as she noticed her and her friend's faces gradually curl into sickening smiles.

Vivianne's vexation finally began to level off when the hooded one said "So, another Dominion-aversive Altmer? I began to lose hope… please, my name is Marigold, I do sincerely hope you'll forgive my brash assumptions."The high elf who just identified herself as _Marigold_ jerked her thumb over to her friend, as Vivianne finally managed to correctly identify her smile as one of welcome, rather than of mockery. "This is my longtime friend, Caitlin. We've been thicker than spriggan sap ever since we were just out of our swaddling." Vivianne's smile grew even more to meet more high elves who seemed to share her abhorrence of the Dominion. She turned to Caitlin who now sported a big goofy grin plastered on her face, throwing out her hand to shake Vivianne's, which she did so with such vigor that Vivianne almost lost her footing. "Hiya, Vivianne. I'm Caitlin. Pleased to meet you. Do you like to play with magic _?"_ Her eyes twinkled with an almost childish friendliness. Vivianne had not even the slightest inkling what experiences she might share with these two in the future, but something in her gut told her they were going to be stories she would revel in.


	2. A Botched Bump-off

Chapter 2 : A Botched Bump-off

Three Thalmor wizards tromped down the backroad of the Reach in oppressive silence, heads all hung low. Even to the most oblivious Nord, it was clear that their colossal egos had been shrunk by some crushing defeat.

Three weeks prior they, along with an astonishing twenty-two of their comrades, had received an execution order on a high elf somewhere in the province. He couldn't recollect her name, but he remembered being told that she was adorned in chainmail with a purple sash, as well as being informed that she was surprisingly capable with both blade and spell, having actively exacerbated the Thalmor's already debilitating problems within Skyrim. About a fortnight before now, they found her, and when they confronted her, she seemed not nervous, but surprised, eyes bewildered and feral, as she drew a most exquisitely crafted blade from its scabbard and a shock spell danced on her fingertips.

Three days they spent pursuing her on the roads, and by Auriel was she a cunning one. Hiding in crevices and underbrush, picking off one or two justiciars wherever the opportunity to do so presented itself, until they were finally reduced to a miniscule envoy of about six remaining. The mage in the front and center, Haemir, first in command of the entire execution squad, glanced first over to his right. A young female Altmer, by the name Acharneth, had her head hung low, a moping droopy look on her face that told him she was as dejected as he was furious. She was always such a reliable one, his direct subordinate in fact. He hoped her male counterpart, Aithlin, survived the confrontation outside of Rorikstead. He was one of the less useless ones.

"Speaking of useless…" The thought seared in his mind as his head swiveled to the left, to cast his eyes on another male wizard, Aeson. The very sight of him made Haemir's blood run hot with rage. To think that this incompetent imbecile got lost on the trails while they spent the latter two days chasing that maniac! Surely he was to be treated with a thorough castigation when they got back to the embassy!

Haemir once again cursed himself for allowing them to forget her name, surely she was not going to cease her transgressions after escaping like that. Haemir was similarly dissatisfied that he had not been able to get a glimpse of the attacker - _ **or attackers, he didn't manage to see-**_ that rescued her. The sheer force of the explosion of arcane fire having thrown himself and Acharneth a good 10 feet clear into the underbrush. To think if they had seen him and Acharneth, they likely would have been worms' meat like their less competent associates. It certainly wasn't the first time he felt the heat of mage fire, having several times faced off against dissenters of Thalmor opinion who were more than capable of wielding magic. He could tell by the screams of his cohort that they would not be returning to the embassy, watching on in shock, but also in a morbid fascination as he saw their flesh nearly liquefied by arcane flames, Multiple plates of protective armor turning into a one-piece funeral suit as the metal melted and then cooled as it connected the once fluid joints of their gear.

Haemir and Acharneth managed to slink away in undeniable defeat, but would not allow their pride being broken to go unpunished! They, by the light of great Auriel's mercy, managed to avoid being too badly ignited by the flames that threw them back. _The same, unfortunately for them, and much to Aeson's initial amusement, could not be said for their clothes._

 _ **Or for the execution order with the target's name on it.**_

Haemir and Acharneth, after escaping the life-endangering scene, managed to slip through the meadow and into the Reach just to the West. After they found that bumbling idiot Aeson on the trail, Haemir managed to elaborate enough of a rough plan. Morthal was already wary enough of mages without three Dominion agents tromping in demanding help, and Solitude was too far to walk to safely, considering that they would either have to wade through the Chaurus-ridden swamps of Morthal or face the brunt of the Forsworn camps alone to get there themselves. The most sensible idea was to head to Markarth directly and have Ondolemar, the chief justiciar, arrange a carriage to take them through the coast-side trail to Northwatch, where they would hopefully be granted an escort back to the embassy.

As if the confrontation and the trek there weren't demoralizing enough, the rain from the day before still hadn't let up, water dragging down the threadbare remains of the two higher ranking Thalmor who were actually at the site of conflict, almost revealing them in their undergarments. "Speak about humiliating _,"_ Haemir grumbled to himself in his lofty accent.

The three turned their heads to the sound of delirious shouting, gazing on with apathy as they observed another traveler become fodder for the savage Forsworn. If this road kept snaking on as much as it was, they likely would suffer a similar fate. In the cover of crags, trees, and massively overgrown foliage like this, they would never see it coming until the sword point was already in their face.

 _ ***RrrrrRRRRRRRrrrRRRRrrr***_

Haemir's stomach grumbled louder than even he did. To add onto their endless list of complaints, they were growing hungry, and were on the last of the rations they rightfully confiscated from the Nord's cottage they raided a week earlier. "What was that stupid Nord's name? Lund?" Haemir thought to himself. As if it mattered. With him alone and dead the skeevers would likely clean up the evidence now. What mattered to Haemir, however, was that they needed to replenish their diets. Not with stale life-extender bread and cheese. _Real food_.

Much to their delight, they _**finally**_ arrived in the ruinous capital of the Reach. What a horrid place it was, with an attempted murder in the market place as they entered in, prevented only by an Imperial female with an impressive wielding of magic- for a human. The smell of spoiled ham and melting silver residue ravaged the city. Yet another savage Nord shoved themselves in Haemir's face, a balding middle-aged man who's attire was inundated in blood. "Fancy yourself some meat?" he inquired, the reeking odor of innards and gore wafting off his clothes and quite offensively into Haemir's face, souring his mood even further than before. Haemir turned his nose up at the horridly reeking length of, _**-whatever in Tamriel it was-**_ that the man offered him. "Certainly not the substandard goods of dubious origin that you present to me, **Nord.** " He glanced down with revulsion at the now-furious vendor in front of him. He noticed the individual reach for his axe handle before taking note of his two affiliates behind him, his look drooping to one of apparent worry. Much to Haemir's audible resentment, another idiot, some vigilant of Stendarr, threw himself in their way, halting their advancement once again to ask about a stupid house. As he passed away from the vigilant, he also noticed to his left another muscle-headed Nord leaning against a nearby support. To his own relief, this Nord seemed halfway intelligent enough to keep his mouth shut. As Haemir and his comrades advanced towards Understone Keep, Haemir glanced back behind him, taking a swift note of the odd Imperial lady speaking to the same Vigilant outside the house, before proceeding inside with him. He didn't know who she was, but there was certainly without a doubt something, _off,_ about her.

Haemir could see Ondolemar's scowl of disapproval as he approached up the steps in what once was a glorious Thalmor robe but by now was reduced to little more than a mess of strings hanging off his body, his and his female associate's underclothes showing through. He braced himself as he stepped forward to his superior, bracing himself for his imminent reprimanding.

 _ **The First Emissary would most certainly NOT be pleased with this.**_


	3. Treasure Hunters, not Thieves

Chapter 3 : Treasure Hunters, not Thieves

Claude poked his head out of the shrubs to survey the vicinity, making sure the coast was clear, before turning his head to gaze upon his soundly sleeping Altmer friend, Alberich. The human remembered fondly the first day he met the naïve high elf, having been run out of Hammerfell and High Rock for their habitual privateering escapades. Over the course of their friendship, they had each broken one another out of more cells, pillories, dungeons, and other menacing contraptions than they each had fingers on both pairs of hands they had together to count.

Once more his head emerged hesitantly, eyes delirious and heavy from days without sleep combined with a paranoia of being found, out of the grass that hid the ditch they were hunkered down in, hiding away after escaping from the incident at that fort. He remembered another thief, by the name of… _Lokir?_ He looked as tired and lost as Claude sometimes felt, almost to be envied as the fellow collapsed from arrow-fire not even a full minute after they emerged from that dehumanizing cart ride, no longer to suffer the debilitating pains and qualms of life. Claude also tried to recall back to the other faces he saw. He remembered Ulfric, narcissist and leader of the petty little revolt, if you could consider it as such, and his lapdog who was apparently called by _Ralof._ He remembered seeing an Imperial woman in rags, but he never got her name. She was almost unsettlingly quiet, even for Claude's usually solitary nature.

Claude once again cast his eyes upon his sleeping elf comrade, painstakingly reminded of the heaviness of his own eyes. Claude tried to retell everything that led up to now. He remembered strolling into Windhelm with trusty Alberich by his side, and the two of them trying to skim some funding off of that self-important imbecile Wuunferth, who most likely collected his from taxes unfairly pried from the hands of the reluctantly compliant public. Two days they spent crouching in the snowberry bushes. At the time, they had also found themselves run out of food, and, in a fit of desperation, attempted to consume the part of a frostbite spider leg that seemed least poisonous and repulsive.

 _ **Neither of them will ever forget the day they spent ill after that.**_

Eventually the Windhelm Guard caught up to them. They remember there being a coincidental confrontation between some legionnaires and the Stormcloaks, which their pursuers readily attempted to reinforce. They both saw that Imperial lady, weary and dazed. She, along with themselves, were unfortunate enough to be captured with the vanquished Stormcloaks by the legionnaires. Claude simply could not sleep with the perpetual jostling of that wagon.

About a week afterward, and slightly less than another week before now, they ended up in the stronghold and _**the thing**_ happened, after which they managed to escape and make their way to Whiterun. While he could certainly understand having to pay a fine or serve a sentence, Claude thought it quite unfair that he and Alberich should have nearly faced the headsman's axe. By all means, they certainly weren't a blazing example of upright citizens, and maybe not all their gold was earned the honest way, but the only people they ever killed were other criminals. Claude knew that the General, whatever his name was, refused those Thalmor the right to the possession of he and his peers who were likewise prisoners, but he couldn't help but feel that the Dominion likely had some hand in that general consequence of simply lopping off the heads of all the prisoners, regardless of what they might have done wrong or if they even did anything wrong at all.

Once in Whiterun, Claude and Alberich both realized together that their most recent misadventure had left them without food, supplies, money, or weapons. So, as they predictably would do, they attempt to make some money that, at this point, seems to really be the only way they know how. This also was the cause of them being run out of Whiterun by the prominent Battleborn family.

Claude finally came to the conclusion that their chances weren't getting any better languishing in the underbrush out here, so that they may as well attempt to do _something._ Claude gently nudged Alberich from his peaceful rest, feeling a pang of anguish as he heard Alberich's audible groan of protest. "Come on Alberich, I need you to wake up buddy." Asserted Claude. Alberich whined, "Do we have to right now?" to which Claude replied compassionately for his friend, "I'm afraid so Alberich. We have a price on our heads in multiple holds and little more than the tunics on our backs to count among our gains since finding ourselves in this accursed province. We need to make something happen quick if we're to persevere in eking out a living for ourselves." With one more groan of complaint and a slow,s tretching rise, Alberish rose up to sit criss-cross until he was on level with Claude.

Pulling themselves out of the damp foliage, Claude and Alberich noticed an altercation occurring between a rogue Altmer and a small group of Thalmor wizards. Claude and Alberich both got down on their knees, watching with bated breath as they warily observed the battle. "Look at her. Those lofty justiciars are clearly having some trouble with her, aren't they now?" Claude murmured to his companion with a grin on his face as he turned to Alberich. "Yes, they most certainly are. Look at her go!" exclaimed a now eagerly anticipating Alberich. Claude remembered that one of their earliest common grounds was their somewhat similar opinion of the Dominion. Alberich, who left the Summerset Isles shortly after the Thalmor began to become a common sight in Alinor, had an immensely venomous view of the organization. Claude, who was slightly less passionate about the issue, could slightly empathize with the group in regards to the heinous atrocities committed against the high elves by Tiber Septim, but nonetheless held an egalitarian belief code and thusly believed that the Dominion should certainly be stopped, along with their human counterparts, the Stormcloaks, who were certainly no less racist or aggressive. Claude suddenly remembered the bow he managed to leave the weapon shop with before being kicked out of the city. Not wanting to directly involve himself but still feeling the urge to contribute in the rogue elf's situation, he knocked an arrow and began to draw the string back…

 _ **And then noticed a colossal explosion right before he could loose an arrow.**_

Claude looked on as two more rogue Altmer descended upon the mages, and signified to Alberich that he firmly believed they would now be victorious and likely no longer needed their help. They decided to head away in the direction of the Reach, but not before running into what seemed to be a small Forsworn camp positioned just outside of Rorikstead. Given the miniscule amount of guards, sweeping the camp was about as much of a cakewalk as they'd ever had with such a savage demographic of people. Pillaging the tents and finding a large trunk sitting in that which likely belonged to their leader, Claude and Alberich threw open the lid and were dumbfounded, laying eyes on what was likely most coins they had ever seen in a single place their entire lives. Knowing that this would not be something they could carry in the pockets of their ragged robes from the previous shenanigans at whatever that fort was, Claude and Alberich combined their muscular power to heave up the heavy chest which they eagerly carried off to Markarth.

As they arrived at the capital city, they hid the box just outside near the stream where they could hopefully construct a raft and send it down the river to be buried later. For the meantime, they took some of the coins which they used to purchase new clothes for themselves. Knowing that spell tomes would likely be one of their greatest weapons, Claude made for Understone keep, noticing three Thalmor wizards descending down the path in crisp, fresh new robes. The front and center one seemed the most dominant figure, a scowl on his face as if he were still bothered by something that had happened before, with the female to his left looking rather embarrassed and the younger male to his right looking rather confused as he took in his surroundings with his big amber eyes. Claude waved to the first one, assuming a façade of faux concern and enthusiasm. "Good day, sir justiciar. How are you today _?"_ Apparently enough, it seemed to work, as the smug fool simply taverted his head and scoffed, rather than turning his attention to him. A Nord, however, stopped the two in their tracks, and asked them if they were looking for money. "We're always looking for money!" eagerly exclaimed Alberich. "We're thie-"

Claude thought quickly and clapped his hand over his elven friend's mouth. "Forgive him," Claude exclaimed meekly. "He's had a fever and is still experiencing some symptoms. What he really means is that we're treasure hunters." "Don't worry!" Claude quickly corrected the stranger's wary gaze, waving his arms out defensively. "He's not contagious anymore."

"Thonar, the chief patriarch of the Silverblood clan, could probably have some use with you, speak to him."The individual exclaimed gruffly. Claude politely suggested that he would and carried on. He didn't trust that man, as he was quite sure he was up to something. Something about a prominent family and a common thug seemed too convenient to be good.


	4. New Unfriendly Faces

Chapter 4 : New _Unfriendly_ Faces

 _ ***Vivianne's POV***_

"Come on, Vivianne, it'll be fun!" Marigold almost cheered as she charged up the hillside towards the very ominous looking ruin, Caitlin shortly in tow. Before going up to the heavy rusted door with Marigold, Caitlin turned to me and flashed that mischievous grin that she so often likes to, signifying that she's about to proclaim some sort of challenge.

"Five hundred septims says you're too scared to take a share of the treasure in there for yourself." She issued in her sly voice.

 _I was most certainly not going to be having any of_ _ **that.**_

"Oh, you just wait and see, _Caitlin!_ " I barely managed to huff out before lunging ahead, almost knocking Caitlin down and just avoiding bumping into Marigold as I came to a skidding halt just behind her. As Caitlin joined us, I could tell by the triumphant smirk on her face that she got what she wanted out of me. That, however, was not going to stop me from making her eat her words when I ran into the main chamber and claimed the prize for myself. To think that she almost believed that I would just sit outside and wait for them to have all the gold and glory to themselves!

Marigold, after fumbling several minutes with the lock at the door, finally heard the telltale * _click_ * that could only mean access was now available. Pushing aside the rusty double doors, I, and evidently Marigold and Caitlin as well, struggled for our breath as the three of us received a hefty amount of dust in our faces. Marigold was the first to step foot inside, the sound of her boot soles meeting the floor echoing throughout what appeared to be a tomb.

Not long into the ruin we came into the actual burial chamber. Strangely enough several of the bodies were out of place and strewn about on the ground. Marigold identified these people as _draugr,_ but considered it strange that they were so out of place. Many of them appeared to have burns of parts of their body, as if somebody had recently attempted to cremate them.

 _ ***Caitlin's POV***_

" _These old crypts are always so dark and dank,"_ I thought to myself as I strolled absentmindedly behind Marigold and our new friend. I glanced up at the ceiling to observe what towered above us, the almost cavernous environment making us seem so small in comparison. The Nords of the past were certainly much more interesting than the ones we see today, with their spells and impressive architecture and their fancy puzzles and riddles. They must have been a lot smarter than the boring old xenophobes that sit in their straw barns today.

My internal rambling was stopped when I felt myself walk into something soft, being jarred back into reality by my having walked right into poor ol' Vivianne in front of me. She and Marigold were crouched down looking at another one of those nasty undead warriors on the ground. They always stopped to examine something so silly when we could be in and out of here in probably about 15 minutes.

Marigold said to me "Look at this, Caitlin," before pointing at another one of those nasty draugr she always spoke about when we were in one of these places. "Eewwww! You want me to put my face near that thing?" I about shouted. My outburst of revulsion was shushed when Marigold put her hand up to my mouth to quiet me. "It has burn marks all over it, like magic fire. I think somebody's been here, and recently. Be alert." She said.

Once we came up to the main chamber, we noticed that the door was propped open and the puzzle lock had already been broken. Marigold looked uneasy, but was the first to step through…

 _ ***Marigold's POV***_

As I stepped through the door it seemed my initial suspicions were correct. I could clearly hear somebody ( or some _thing_ ) rummaging through the chest in the treasure chamber, amidst the plethora of already dispatched draugr. I made my way to the center of the dimly lit room, just able to make out a figure bent over the main casket. Advancing slightly ever more, in silent caution, her magelight illuminated the nearby vicinity. It was obvious she had some affinity for magic. And that's when my eyes fell down to the actual figure itself, and made out the appearance of her attire.

 _Thalmor robes._

Evidently, she heard my footsteps, as she swiftly turned her head to cast her eyes on me. As soon as she interpreted what she saw, her eyes immediately narrowed to murderous slits, and she cast her hand out in a motion to cease. "By order of Justiciar Deluneth of the Third Aldmeri Dominion, _stop right there!_ " she exclaimed in her tyrannically authoritative tone.

"And just what makes you think you can make me do _that?_ " I could only stop myself from _snarling_ back at her.

"You are interrupting an important operation by an agent of the Aldmeri Dominion! You and any wealth you have claimed from this barrow are now forfeit to the Thalmor!" the justiciar asserted as Vivianne and Caitlin stepped out from behind me to support me in the event of a direct physical conflict.

 _Deluneth's golden face became quite pale to witness the sight of two of my comrades, as she clearly wasn't anticipating that._

Deluneth, as she now identified herself to me, held her hands up defensively, observably beginning to break into a cold sweat. "Now hold on ladies, we can do this _reasonably_ now…" she stammered out.

The reality of the justiciar's situation finally began to sink in, as she realized she had just come face-to-face with three fugitives wanted by the Dominion who were trained in multiple methodologies of combat, as she finally processed just who she was facing, her eyes grew even wider with fear. Even somebody as arrogant as a veteran Thalmor justiciar was intelligent enough to understand that the situation was bleak for them when they come alone against three trained combatants who just recently made shredded, roasted justiciar from an entire envoy about a week earlier.

My thought processes were interrupted by the unmistakable noise of a coffin lid blowing off of one of the caskets from the side of the room, a rather threatening wight stepping out of the previously sealed container. Deluneth, having the Thalmor operative's mentality that she did, saw her opportunity and quickly flung an ice spike in our general direction, just enough to divert us and hinder our preparation against the undead warrior to buy her enough time to make a rather less-than-gallant escape. My fury lit up like a fire rune as I heard the * _jingle_ * of that opportunist shoveling as many coins out of that chest as she possibly could and then the * _clomp, clomp_ * of her boots as she made out of the chamber, escaping with what was likely a significant share of the loot and leaving us to fight for ourselves while she likely went back to report to the Emissary and snatch a promotion from the whole ordeal.

As the coward named _Deluneth_ stole away with _our gold,_ I braced myself to face the draugr that was in front of us, a readied frost spell chilling my palms. On my right I could hear Caitlin ready her flames, while to my left I could hear the all-too-familiar * _shing!_ * of a blade coming out from a scabbard and also the * _crackle_ * of a lighting spell, one likely in either of each of Vivianne's two hands. While the draugr in front of us certainly was very menacing, I anticipated that the combined three of us would be enough to easily deal with his like.

As predicted, my blizzard froze together the plates of his armor while Caitlin's dual-cast firebolt threw the reanimated warrior off his feet, turning him over almost until his feet were at the top and his head at the bottom, sent careening directly back into the coffin he initially charged at our group from. The draugr warrior came to slam into the coffin back with a rattling * _Thud!_ * before finally slouching down with its arms at its side and its back hunched against the point between the coffin wall and the ground.

Vivianne was the last but certainly not the least to act, as she strode upward with what I could now see was a quite meticulously crafted elven sword, straddling the restless warrior by his torso. She plunged her blade into its chest and channeled her lightning spell through her sword, her hair flying up as the quicksilver blade exploded with the light of conducted electricity. The draugr's steel armor coursed with an electrical field all around it, acting as a fry cooker for the unfortunate gladiator inside who was promptly roasted much like a potato in a kettle of boiling oil.

Vivianne turned to us, her now disheveled hair and gleaming smile a testament to her impressive feat before gesturing her exquisitely engraved weapon in the direction of the chest and the contents still remaining.

"Now Caitlin, what was that you said about five hundred septims?"

 _ ***Deluneth's POV***_

At long last I made my way up to the gate of the embassy, legs aching from running and pockets heavy with septims as I came upon the padlocked gate. Courteously enough, the watchman at the front undid the lock and permitted me through.

Finally in the warmth of the four walls of the barracks, I was helped to some of the excellent Altmeri cooking that thankfully was not lost when we relocated to this barren hole of a province. The warm, homely glow of the fire and the familiar, _superior Altmer_ faces all around almost helped me to forget where I really was, delivering fond memories of the comfortable life in Alinor.

* _ **Slam!**_ *

The aggressive shutting of the door had me about drop the sweet roll in my hand as I glanced up to the door of the barracks, Haemir in place with his hands on his hips casting that glare that he so often does. For a higher ranking justiciar, he certainly embodied the role quite well.

"Haemir, it's so good to see you!" I exclaimed. "Deluneth, where have you been? Do you return with news?" his expectant reply came back. "Yeah, I was in- a ruin- where I ran into three misguided Altmer who don't seem to understand our race's supremacy." I managed through mouthfuls of food. "Really… and what did these Altmer look like?" I noticed that this seemed to pique his interest. "Well," I mused, "They were all female. Like me. I noticed one had a hooded blue robe, and one of her friends was wearing a purple sash-" "A purple sash? Did she have long straight hair and chainmail? Did she wield lightning?" His eager response disallowed me from finishing.

"Yeah… how did you know?"

 _ ***Vivianne's POV***_

I felt invigorated having startled off a justiciar, executed one of those draugr, as Marigold called them, collecting a share of the treasure, and making good on the bet Caitlin made.

 _Heh. And she thought I didn't have it in me._

The day certainly took its toll, however, and it seemed I was not the only one who had been sufficiently exerted from our most recent adventure's troubles. Trudging home down the road, we took the time to relive those moments during that conflict in the crypt as we met the justiciar. She didn't seem familiar to any of us at all, so we were only left to assume that she must've been a new unfriendly face.

Marigold strode ahead at a brisk but steady pace, myself following shortly behind and Caitlin lagging just so slightly behind as she took time to kick stones down the road or point out a rabbit she sighted. While she certainly was a go-getter in that dungeon, she hadn't failed to take time to enjoy the simple pleasures while we meandered Northward towards Whiterun, just passing the dilapidated fort nearby here on our homeward journey. The night was soothingly calm, and the stars twinkled beautifully in the sky. I could notice Caitlin glance up in the direction that I was, and she seemed to agree as she began pointing out constellations.

Before long our group found themselves upon the heavy double gate to the city, the guards gruff and unwelcoming as they usually were, and begrudgingly pushed open the gate for us to pass through. Making our way up the cobbled road Marigold finally brought us before the local tavern, holding the door open for the two of us before pulling it shut behind herself.

Everybody inside turned to gaze upon us, their faces matching their unease and suspicion upon witnessing the entry of three Altmer in a single, conjoined group. The chilling silence hanging in the air, hushed whispers passing out of cupped hands and into intently turned ears as Marigold made her way to the counter and discussed a transaction to lodge three. I, on the other hand, ordered a tankard of Honningbrew, which quickly turned into three. To say that the abhorrent glares of the native Nords made me uneasy would be an understatement.

The door to my room never felt so relieving to be closed, almost as if I erected a wall between myself and the seeming riot mob in waiting. I undressed until I was in my linens, and then fastened my knife belt back on. I wasn't going to sleep without having it around my waist for tonight, with the reaction my friends and I garnered on our way in.

 _Tonight was going to be long._


	5. Rise and Shine

Chapter 5 : Rise and Shine

 _ ***Vivianne's POV***_

At a time that was all too early for my liking, I was rudely awoken by the shining in of the sun through the rickety boards that constituted the inn's roof. My tired eyes groaned almost as much as my actual self groaned as I reluctantly raised from the inviting sheets of my bed. My head buzzed unpleasantly from the amount of drinks I had consumed to help myself sleep the night before, and as I was emerging from my sleep, I was distracted by the irritating pinch of my knife belt that I just noticed had still been fastened around my waist, causing me to catch my footing on the frame of the bed and tumble out gracelessly.

 _What a start to a new day._

After picking myself up from an embarrassing collapse, I was initially compelled to inspect my belongings, making good on the trust that everything was where it had previously been. My coin purse was still as full as I left it last night, my tunic and chainmail were still lying haphazardly on the ground from where I left them last night, my Phynastorian hymnal was still relatively unscathed, if you didn't consider how old it was and how many scenarios it previously was with me in. All was set for the day ahead. When I checked in with the Nord lady at the front counter from last night, she told me that my friends from last night were still currently asleep, as far as she understood, and directed me to their rooms for the previous passing. As it would be, they were still lying still as stones, musty sheets draped over their figures.

It would be rude of me to simply up and leave without telling them, I assumed, so a pen and parchment was adequate to produce a notice assuring them that I would return and had not gone far. With all said and done, I strode out the front door of the inn, unabashed and undeterred from finding a new destination in Skyrim from my emigration from the Summerset Isles. Perhaps even making a new circle of friends out of some of the native Nords here, assuming they might be amiable enough. Sun blazing, city bustling, I inhaled the reinvigorating fresh air of a crisp Spring day. My first instinct immediately after emerging from the door of last nights' lodging was to retrieve some fresh, cold water from the well, which would hopefully revive me for the day and help to relieve some of the less pleasant after-effects of last night's mead.

Sure, maybe the cities here were nothing at all like they were in the homeland, with cobbled barns patched on top with straw instead of the meticulous architecture of Altmeri-constructed castles and palaces, draped with gleaming silken banners, and maybe the citizens didn't practice daily courtesy rituals, instead preferring to simply wander obliviously through the day, doing and saying as they will, and maybe Skyrim's rural communities were much more common and much less hidden from the common eye, exposing oneself to all the unpleasant, dank conditions of what likely would be considered honest work in this province, but that didn't necessarily mean Skyrim was worse than Summerset, it was simply different! And I certainly was not going to be run out of yet another potential home just for the insipid reasoning of it being different than the beginning point of my journey! Such reasoning to do so was foolish, and would inevitably drive one all over Tamriel in search of a location that didn't exist!

Distracted by my deliberate attempts at optimistic thinking, I failed to notice I had just happened to stroll past the stables of Whiterun, and was very unexpectedly collided with by a wall of the most foul scents from what was unmistakably the unavoidable by-product of raising animals.

 _Okay. Maybe Skyrim was just a_ _ **little bit**_ _worse._

 _ ***Caitlin's POV***_

My eyes shot open at the end of my hibernation from coming into this nasty rank barn that we visited the night before. Sleep was so boring. Why sleep when you could be having adventures and learning about magic? That was probably why the master magicians of history never found out how to live for eternity. They spent too much time sleeping rather than accumulating endless power to live for eternity.

 _Except maybe that Dunmer spellcaster somewhere in Morrowind. He spent quite a bit of time refining that._

I bombarded outside my room to begin claiming yet another day, rushing down the stairs to the nice lady who served drinks at the counters to ask her about my friends. Her thick Skyrim accent spouted,

"The one with the purple left about twenty minutes ago. Your mage friend is still in bed. The one with the purple left a note for you two on the door."

I followed her finger until my eyes rested upon the notice that Viviane wrote to let us know she was okay. I wasn't about to leave Marigold guessing where I might be, so I got the nearest quill and made sure to add my own two septims to the note about where I was. That should keep her calm about me being okay.

After inscribing my input on the notice of leave I rushed out the door of the inn, eager to meet with Vivianne again and not wanting to lose her before she moved too far. Friends had to stick together now, after all! I got outside the gates of the tiny city (for a city, that is, not for a town) and saw Vivianne just past the stable on the outskirts, strolling down the road in that chainmail. The glint of her armour almost made her hard to recognize, which was remedied by that unique purple sash she always adorned herself with. "Vivianne!" she turned her head at the call of my voice, apparently somewhat unexpectant that one of her peers would catch up with her before she got far. Her growing smile suggested that I hadn't interrupted anything too important to break focus on though.

 _Or that I foiled an attempt to split off from Marigold and me!_

"Oh, hey Caitlin! Lovely morning, don't you think? Almost reminds me of the gleaming sunrises back in Summerset when I was but a small elf child. Before my father joined the Dominion and my mother and I left Summerset to get away from…" Her voice trailed off, face dropping and scrunching into a scowl of disgust that was likely directed at her former paternal guardian for his Dominion affiliations. She quickly regained composure and turned back up to me, continuing, "Anyways, how are you? Did you sleep well? Is Marigold awake?"

I shook my head with dejection. Marigold usually was late retiring to bed and late rising in the morning, likely as a result of being so irreversibly engrossed in her texts and incantations, which was fine. It certainly was paying off, as she was becoming an impressively adept mage, and she didn't seem to be losing any of her elven youth, considering she still got roughly the same amount of rest as most everybody else, just at different intervals of the day.

"I slept alright, I suppose. That bed was hard and uncomfortable. Not at all like the ones I had during my younger years in Auridon or Cyrodiil. I hope not all the beds in Skyrim are similar."

Vivianne nodded in agreement, evidently able to sympathize with my sentiments. She added on, "Certainly. The beds in Lillandril were much more softer, and it's clear that they make a greater effort to keep them clean in the Isles than they do here. It still bests the idea of having to use a bedroll on the ground though. The stones in the dirt poke into the bottom and make your back cramp in the morning, to say nothing of the creatures that wander the ground you'll be sleeping on top of."

I remembered having to use a bedroll while my family and I were leaving Skywatch to relocate to the Imperial province. The bedrolls were rank and damp, and the bugs of the ground seemed to be drawn to the semi-lukewarm interior of the musty furs. It was good to finally be out of that refugee camp and just a little further out of the Dominion's reach, even if not completely so. The Imperial Province, in all its luster, still had Thalmor influence tainting its landscape, and while the same could easily be said for Skyrim, it was without a doubt much more pervasive the closer in proximity you were to the Summerset Isles.

Vivianne extended her arm and index finger to direct my attention to one of the grain fields of a nearby farm, elaborating on her childhood, "My cousin and I used to walk down a road similar to this to a plantation belonging to a well-endowed longtime family friend. He gave us grain almost as golden as most Altmers' complexions, and my mother would bake the most sublime bread. That was before my father split us up with his decision to become a Justiciar and the ensuing argument with mother and my aunt. My cousin and aunt live together in Cheydinhal now, having stopped just about a fortnight before mother and I reached Skyrim. They still write me occasionally, along with my childhood friend Nasturtium who found herself a career as an apothecary in Highrock."

Hearing Vivianne talk about her family warmed my heart, and reminded me of my step-sister and cousin of my own who went with our father to Bravil while mother brought my brother and I slightly further Northward into Cheydinhal. The Imperial Province was astounding, and there were so many interesting adventures to be had there. Only once did I ever manage to go to the Imperial city, but the sheer grandeur of it was something absolutely unforgettable. My mother noticed that I took an interest in using spells from a young age, so with the earnings she managed to scrape together she sent me off to pursue and education in magic. My brother, alternatively, was more interesting in hunting game and becoming a mercenary, and so he grew up to attend a combat academy and later become a bounty collector in the province, having a presence mainly in the Colovian Highlands. Cyrodiil was a peaceful province, one of persisting calm and opportunity after the Oblivion Crisis and before the Great War. Mother finally decided that we should leave for Skyrim when brother and I were adolescents, fleeing from the influence of the entity that so pervasively affected our homeland. Father, with step-sister and cousin, temporarily relocated to Elsweyr, a protectorate of the Dominion, so as to void the aggression. Marigold told me that she remained in Firsthold for a longer period of time, attempting to avoid any contact with the Thalmor while continuing to live in Auridon to pursue a higher quality education in spells. The Dominion contacted her multiple times with infuriating perseverance, sending letters demanding she become a justiciar and use her spells to advance their regime, making numerous offers should she accept and continually inflating her hatred of them with stories of their actions and what they wanted her to do for them. Before too long she finally became fed up and decided to leave the province with her mother and big sister. I remember her saying something about her big sister, Kormah, who left their new home in Highrock to pursue other ambitions when she was younger. It was sad to hear that she didn't receive postage from Kormah and consequently couldn't know whether or not she was alright, or what might have happened to her if she wasn't.

 _ ***Marigold's POV***_

My body ached as I groaned and threw my head up from the pillow on the bed that much more resembled a sack of flour. The boarding at Winterhold was much more pleasant while I was there to study spells, even if they were likely from the last age. The unmistakable emptiness of the rooms and shining in of the light indicated to me that I was late getting up from sleeping last night, no doubt exacerbated by the very unwelcoming demeanor of the Nords who, err… _greeted us_ last night. I dragged myself lazily out of the bed, now a haven to myself with the arrival of a new morning - _or was it noon now?_ \- and the natural drive suggesting that I didn't want to get up, but that I _had_ to. A quick survey around did not reveal the whereabouts of Caitlin or Vivianne to me, and evidently the woman at the front counter, who by now was leisurely wiping out dirty tankards, seemed to take note of my apparent confusion. Despite having been hard last night, she seemed to have grown a little more comfortable with the presence of Altmer in her inn, her tone more amiable than last night. Or maybe her harshness the previous night was simply symptomatic of being overworked and in need of a rest. In her thick Scandinavian accent I could make out, "Your other elf friends went out for a stroll, sweetie. Said they'd left a note for you to make sure you knew where they were and made good to let know that they'd be back soon." I curtsied slightly to her warm smile, mistakenly demonstrating what would be considered manners in my native culture of Summerset, but likely was considered a frivolous formality in these parts of the world. "Sincerest thanks, ma'am." I managed to semi-coherently force out.

I looked back to scour about for the notice she mentioned before my eyes landed on a scrap of parchment pasted to me bedpost. How I failed to notice it earlier was a mystery to me. The first half of the letter, if it was long enough to be considered such, was in a meticulous handwriting that spoke with almost certainty to somebody who was at least influenced by, if not raised in, Summerset.

"Marigold, I've woken up and pardoned myself to enjoy the new day that lies before us. Fret not, for I will return shortly. -V"

My eyes fell further down the paper, unable to resist a small grin of humor as my eyes came to register the rushed scrawling that could only be the mischievous Caitlin.

"Yeah me too, Marigold! Catch you later! -C"

I hardly managed down the stairs again before I heard the door to the tavern and was met with a visibly satisfied Vivianne and a very giddy Caitlin, both quite pleased to see that I had woke by now. Caitlin was first to act, Altmer manners subordinate on her list of priorities to her interactions with friends, as was the case in this occurrence and most others. "Good afternoon Marigold! You sleep well? You should go to bed earlier. Then we could all have gone on a walk together instead of just me and Vivianne! Next time go to sleep earlier and get up so we can go and do something together!" Her continual stream of ideas was too much to keep my composure, cracking yet another smile from me at Caitlin's classic excitement and energy. She may have been a little blunt and childlike, but anybody who knew Caitlin well enough knew for certain that she had no deliberate intention of ever being rude when behaving as such, and that she was also a very intelligent elf, even by Altmer standards. There was just some spark in her that continually seemed to just radiate energy and excitement that she never really could entirely get out of her system, likely as a result of simply being so happy all the time. Her cheerfulness was truly infectious, in a pleasant way.

Vivianne performed a classic Altmer curtsy, softly but audibly greeting, "It is good to see you are awake, Marigold. I hope you slept well."

Caitlin rushed to my side to help me clean my room and prepare my things, while Vivianne took some time in her own room to prepare to leave. As Vivianne made her way to her room, I noticed a look of apparent discontent on her face, as if something was bothering her.

 _ ***5 year old Vivianne's POV ; Flashback***_

It was an unusually still night in Lillandril, no less still than was typical, but a different kind of still. Not the peaceful, relaxing still that combined with the warm, balmy environment of the archipelago that so often lulled its native elves to sleep. This was a tense, inauspicious silence, that suggested an unexpected, inevitable misfortune was imminent.

 _It was much different in Vivianne's household._

"Auriel damn it, Amael! What about this do you not understand?!" was the livid interjection from a tall, imposing male Altmer clad in Dominion robes. The elf in front of him, a slender, matronly female whose face once held a warm, inviting smile that radiated the spirit of her altruism, stared at the ground, tears streaming profusely down her visage, unable to face the other high elf in front of her and still struggling to comprehend the situation that she was in.

"What I don't understand about this is what happened to you. I love the elf I married. Not the elf that currently stands before me adorned in the robes of such a hateful and intolerant organization. You are no longer the elf I married and I'm still trying to figure out what went wrong." She forced through hics and sobs. The female elf, now forcing herself to gaze up into the others' furious, indignant eyes, attempted to scan for some semblance of reason. Two young Altmer children shrunk behind her, one glancing around the taller elf's leg, one of her small, golden hands clinging desperately to the adult's draping dress in the vain hope that it might guard her against the robe-clad elf.

"You don't understand that I have seen the light? The undeniable supremacy of the elven race over the down-trodden _dogs_ of Lorkhan? _You can't comprehend that?!_ " His shouting echoing throughout the small residence.

Vivianne, the elf-child who looked around her mother's dress to her father, was simultaneously crestfallen and terrified. She glanced over to Sylavel, her cousin, who seemed as defeated and confused as Vivianne felt.

"Listen to what your saying! And in front of your daughter and niece! You want them to grow up as twisted and corrupted as the reprehensible Justiciars that you've become?!" Amael forced through in her emotional state. Only after the statement emerged from her mouth did she realize the mistake she made in saying such and the slight her spouse would inevitably perceive at that. Hands clasped over her mouth, she didn't have to look up into his blazing eyes to realize she had too far strayed from tact. The now-justiciar was not having it though, his hand instinctually whirled up and collided with his wife's face, knocking her down as the impact of gloved hand to tear-streaked face with a sickening _*Smack!*_

Vivianne and Sylavel couldn't help themselves as shrill screams of terror ripped themselves from their mouths, Amael now thrown to her hindquarters on the floor in front of them. Vivianne, in her childish fury, stepped forward to face her former guardian, now reprehensible antagonist of her life, furiously declaring vehement abhorrence of him. "I hate you, I hate you I _hate you!_ " Amael, meanwhile, picked herself up from the ground, gathering herself in front of the now considerably more threatening elf and mustering all the inner strength she could to do what must be done. After he took his gaze up from his now slightly moist glove from Amael's tear shed, she just managed to force out, "Get out of this house. Now. Get out and don't ever return."

The justiciar, in his hubris and anger, complied with venomous reluctance, house rattling from the stamp of his boots on the floor. The deafening _*Slam!*_ of the door knocking books of the edges of tables with his exit.

Vivianne simply could not understand what made her father hit her mother. They had always gotten along together so well, it was impossible at the time to come to terms with the fact that this was now what her father had been, or that any of this was real. It was also impossible to understand how the charismatic elf who once taught her how to shoot small game with a bow, took her out to romp, and was strangely enough one of the chief diplomats with the human legionnaires could have undergone such a vicious transformation. The legionnaires were always so kind, it was so alien to her young mind to think that there were people in the world who hated based upon something as superficial as race. Vivianne recalled a small unit of legionnaires treading the street of her town once, inviting smiles stretched out across their faces as they dropped a small portion of a crème treat into the young elf's outstretched, waiting palm.

She hoped deeply in her troubled heart for reconciliation between her two parents and for everything to return to normal, but even at her wishful, naïve age, Vivianne was painfully aware that seemed an extremely fickle hope.


End file.
